¹ The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem. ² Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. ³ What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun? ⁴ A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever. ⁵ The sun rises, and the sun goes down, and hastens to the place where it rises. ⁶ The wind blows to the south and goes around to the north; around and around goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns. ⁷ All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; to the place where the streams flow, there they flow again. ⁸ All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. ⁹ What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. ¹⁰ Is there a thing of which it is said, “See, this is new”? It has been already in the ages before us. ¹¹ There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.

In 1904, the writer Franz Kafka once wrote in a letter, “We ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?…[W]e need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply…A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.”[i] One might say Ecclesiastes is such a book. Its own ending, 12:11, compares its message to a set of pointy sticks (goads) prodding us where we’d rather not go.

Or, as Bobby Jamieson puts it, reading Ecclesiastes is like meeting “a philosopher at a party.” Everyone’s trying to have a good time, forgetting their problems. Then the philosopher takes a seat, stares you in the eyes, and says, “Death comes to us all.”[ii] We’re forced to look reality in the face. But that’s how wisdom matures us. In his book Knowing God, J. I. Packer says, “To live wisely, you [must] be clear-sighted and realistic—ruthlessly so—in looking at life as it is. Wisdom will not go with comforting illusions, false sentiment, or the use of rose-colored glasses.”[iii]

Perhaps this is why Ecclesiastes has been called “the black sheep” of Old Testament literature. Some have labeled it “unorthodox.” “Can a sage who truly knows God speak this way?” Ecclesiastes examines the hardest things in life and then says out loud the questions we’re often too embarrassed to admit already crossed our minds. “If the wise dies just like the fool, what’s the point of wisdom?” “If all my life-long achievements can be undone by a fool the moment I die, what of it?”

The World as Groaning, Gift, and God’s

But in posing these questions, Ecclesiastes joins us in the complexities of our world. To get the message of Ecclesiastes we need to keep three vantage points in mind: the world as groaning, the world as gift, and the world as God’s.

Much of the book addresses a world that’s groaning. We’ll hear words like toil, dust, death—all of which remind us of Genesis 3. Adam sinned and God cursed the ground. Ecclesiastes doesn’t shy from the grim realities of our groaning world. Laboring in vain, injustice to the poor, abuse of authority, the righteous treated like the wicked, the wicked treated like the righteous, death suddenly snatching another person—or 135 of them on the Guadalupe last July Fourth. And all of it, outside our control. We have no say in the matter. The wise can’t figure it out or plan for it; and they die just like the fools. Cancer doesn’t select the ungodly over the godly. The wicked prolong their days, and the righteous die early sometimes. So, we’re confounded by the futilities life hurls our way.

And if we can’t control this world, the temptation is to just throw up our hands and turn cynical. But Ecclesiastes doesn’t let us go there either. Seven times, he will tell us to enjoy the world as gift. 3:12 is one of them: “I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil.” That’s not resignation—“might as well live it up now.” No, Ecclesiastes says of these good things, “This is God’s gift to man.” Or later in 6:19, “God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them.” More than that, 12:10 speaks positively of the Preacher’s words—they are “words of delight.”

In other words, Ecclesiastes acknowledges the groaning of Genesis 3 without losing the gift of Genesis 1-2. It’s written for those who feel the tension between the world as beautiful and the world as broken, the world as wonderful and the world as wicked, the world as incredible and the world as full of inconsistencies this side of Eden. How do we find our way in these tensions? How do we navigate these contradictions?

By seeing the world as God’s. 12:13 tells us the end of the matter, the point of Ecclesiastes. After all has been heard: “fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment.” So, if one had to summarize the message of Ecclesiastes, it could go something like this: wisdom sees life’s futilities and navigates them by fearing God and enjoying his gifts.

All Is Vanity

Now, the latter part of that summary will become clearer as we work through this book. But the first part of that summary (i.e., “seeing life’s futilities”) stands out clearly in the book’s opening words: “Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.” Who is this “Preacher” and what’s his big idea?

The Hebrew behind “Preacher” is Qohelet. Our English title “Ecclesiastes” comes from a Latin transliteration of a Greek translation of Qohelet. But the title explains his duty. He is a “gatherer,” one who assembles. He gathers wisdom, but he also gathers God’s people to impart that wisdom. And his wisdom comes with royal authority.

He’s called “the son of David, king in Jerusalem” (Eccl 1:1). Sounds like the way Proverbs begins: “The proverbs of Solomon, son of David, king of Israel” (Prov 1:1). At the end of this book, we also learn how this Preacher “arranged many proverbs with great care” (Eccl 12:9). In 1:16, the Preacher also describes himself as having wisdom, surpassing all before him. So, many have concluded that King Solomon must be the author. Others have suggested an author besides Solomon, especially with how the book ends in the third person. But regardless the ultimate source behind these words is God: “they are given by one Shepherd,” 12:11 says.

Sometimes, then, I’ll refer to Solomon. But in keeping with the book’s presentation, much of the time we’ll call him “The Preacher.” And ultimately, we’ll be asking what our Chief Shepherd wants us to hear. What wisdom does he have for us? Well, the message of Ecclesiastes isn’t easy to swallow. But like a medicine that tastes bitter, it will bring healing once we gulp it down and let the medicine do its work. The first dose we must receive is this: all is vanity.

Chapter 1 begins with a word about the Preacher (verse 1). Then he states his big idea (“Vanity” in verse 2-3). Then he writes a poem to illustrate his big idea in verses 4-11. Ecclesiastes will also end with a similar combination but in reverse. We get a poem to illustrate his big idea in 12:1-7. Then he states his big idea again in 12:8, “Vanity of vanities.” Then the book closes with a word about the Preacher. Very skillfully, then, the Preacher shapes his message around this big idea: “Vanity of vanities.”

Five times in verse 2 he repeats this word, “vanity.” He will use it another thirty-three times in the rest of the book. The Hebrew word is hevel and its meaning is difficult to capture with just one English word like “vanity.” Just pull up a few English translations of Ecclesiastes and you’ll see the attempts to get at this word. The NIV renders it “meaningless.” But that’s an unfortunate translation.

The basic idea behind hevel is “breath,” “vapor.” We find it elsewhere in places like Psalm 39:5, “Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath [hevel].” Or Psalm 144:4, “Man is like a breath [hevel]; his days are like a passing shadow.” The imagery in these Psalms illustrate the nature of hevel—something fleeting, something we can’t hold on to. It’s like the smoke after blowing out a birthday candle: it’s here one minute and gone the next. So, we’ll come to places like 11:9-10, “Rejoice, O young man, in your youth…Remove vexation from your heart, and put away pain from your body, for youth and the dawn of life are vanity”—“fleeting” is the sense.

But that’s not the only nuance in Ecclesiastes. Because things are fleeting, we also feel their futility. Notice the Preacher’s imagery down in 1:14, “I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind.” So, the idea of trying to grasp the wind is still there. But context clarifies that things people are doing often fail to meet expectations. We work and work and work and it seems like even our best efforts don’t make for any lasting gain. In that sense, hevel relates to what Romans 8 says: “the creation was subjected to futility.”

But one further nuance is the notion of absurd. Because things are fleeting and subjected to futility, that also means things get frustrating. You can toil your whole life with wisdom, knowledge, and skill, but then you die, and some fool gets all that you earned. Life also doesn’t go as we expect: the fastest doesn’t always win the race; the wise sometimes go hungry; the unjust keep their power; the incompetent get the promotion; the wicked live long, the righteous die early. The Preacher sees life’s futilities and says, “Hevel. Absurd. What’s the point of all this?”

Fleeting, futile, absurd—sometimes these nuances might even overlap one another, depending on the context. But the point and the reason he repeats it so often is that he can’t get away from it. “Vanity of vanities!” That’s how you state a superlative in Hebrew. Like “holy of holies” means the most holy place. Or “Song of songs” means the greatest song. Same here: “vanity of vanities” means the most vanity.

“All is vanity,” he says. Everywhere he turns, hevel is just there. You repair the fence, and it decays. You buy a new car, and the value drops. You love your kids, and some still go astray. You worked hard, but the company still downsizes. You plan a vacation, but the AC goes out and drains what you saved. You sent the text, but it was misunderstood. You finally got the job, but your tire goes flat the first morning of work. You replace the faucet, but you bought the wrong fitting, and nobody can use the bathroom till you get back from Home Depot.

All of us know this hevel. In fact, the word sounds like what it means. It sounds like the air that exits your mouth when you sigh, “Hevel.”[iv] He means to capture the sigh we all feel in this world subjected to futility. “All is vanity,” he says. You cannot escape it. It touches everything. That doesn’t mean everything is bad; only that it’s broken, incomplete, impermanent. We try to hold on, but it passes through our fingers.

No Gain Under the Sun

Which is why he poses an important question in verse 3. You see, the Preacher went on his own little quest and now he wants us to follow. He wants to show how he arrived at “vanity of vanities.” Perhaps some have even questioned his thesis already in verse 2: “Come on, man. All is vanity? That’s not what the slogans at the Christian bookstore tell me. That’s not what I hear on K-Love: ‘positive, encouraging, safe for the whole family.’” So, he says, “Let’s get real for a minute.” Ask yourself, “What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?”

This phrase “under the sun” doesn’t mean living without reference to God. Yes, God is “above the sun” in a sense. But that doesn’t mean the Preacher has taken up the voice of a skeptic under the sun. Rather, he knows God is involved. 1:13, he knows that “it’s an unhappy business that God has given to the children of man” under the sun. He sees “under the sun,” in 3:18, that “God is testing man that they may see that they themselves are but beasts.” He’s not a skeptic. He’s candid about the way the world is.

“Under the sun” is the realm in which we experience life’s futilities. It’s the realm initially blessed by God in Genesis 1 when he hung the sun in the sky; but it’s now the realm subjected to God’s curse, to “disfigurement, distortion, deficiencies.”[v] Notice that word “toil” also—the routine, tiresome exertion of humanity. It recalls Genesis 3. “Cursed is the ground because of you, [Adam].” God said, “In pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you…by the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground.”

Because of sin, life under the sun is hard and then you die. The question is posed for those who are in Adam. In Hebrew verse 3 says, “What does adam gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” This is your story.

All you wanted to do was paint the bathroom wall, but you feel the bottom of the sheetrock is soft, only to discover a leak, only to discover rot, only to discover the nails have pulled out of the header—“vanity.” You were careful with money; you saved for retirement; and then cancer keeps you from enjoying any of it—“vanity.” You build a camp for youth to enjoy creation and learn about the Lord, and one storm devastates many families—“vanity.” You have a long To-Do list at home, and no matter how many check marks you make, the list keeps growing—“vanity.” This is life under the sun. It’s fleeting. It’s full of futilities. It’s frustrating. Eventually it sweeps you away.

In case you’re not getting it, he makes you feel it with a poem in verses 4-11. Here’s the evidence, he says. Let’s see how you answer the question of verse 3. Notice a few things about this poem. For starters, life under the sun is busy. Generations coming and going. The sun rising and setting. Wind blowing round and round. Streams running and flowing. Mouths talking, eyes seeing, ears hearing.

But the busy-ness is also repetitive. Generations keep coming. The sun sets only to do it again. In the ESV, you might even notice a footnote next to “hasten.” The sun itself is panting—it’s out of breath as it races to another morning. The wind goes round, round, round. The streams—“to the place where they flow, there they flow again.” Verse 9 tells us what he’s getting at: “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, ‘See, this is new’? It has been already in the ages before us.” Everything in life under the sun is busy but nothing new comes of it.

Sure, technology is more sophisticated. His point isn’t that rockets, internet, and iPhones were always around. But that these are only variations of very old patterns—adventure, communication, entertainment; and they, like the rest of creation, will only keep coming and never satisfy. Did you catch that sense of dissatisfaction also, that lack of fulfillment as he looks at life under the sun. “The streams run into the sea, but the sea is not full.” Verse 8, “the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing.” No matter how much we search and talk and labor, there will always be more. If Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, and X have taught us anything, it’s that humans have an insatiable craving to see more and yet are never satisfied.

And eventually, the creation itself will watch us exit. Just like everything else under the sun, the poem itself circles back to where it began—with a picture of death. Verse 4 said, “A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever.” You will enter, you will exit, and nothing about the world will change. It will go on, same as always, without you. You say, “Sure, but what about my legacy, my reputation, my name? Surely that will remain.” But verse 11 says otherwise: “There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.” Give it enough time and they will forget you.

What is the answer to his question, then? “What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” Nothing. At least nothing that lasts. Our toil is like building a sandcastle at the edge of the ocean before the tide comes in. Tomorrow, it’s gone. Hence the Preacher’s big idea: “all is vanity.” Again, that doesn’t mean the toil is bad. Later he says, “take pleasure in all your toil” (Eccl 3:13). But like other things under the sun, the results are fleeting. There is no lasting gain. It’s all like a breath—hevel.

Gain Only Comes in Christ

Aren’t you glad you came today?! What in the world are we supposed to take away from this? If you’re going to be wise, you need to let this medicine go down. Most of you feel the frustrations of this world’s groaning. The problem comes when we try to ignore it or pretend like it’s not there. Or when we tell ourselves lies: “Everything’s fine.” Or we try to escape it or numb ourselves to it with a cocktail of remedies.

But the Christian life doesn’t pretend frustrations don’t exist. We face them and accept them as part of the world that’s groaning. This truth frees us from any expectation that our days should be free from trouble, that our work should always be pleasant. Some of you are looking for greener grass on the other side of the fence, but as Dale likes to say, “You’re just going to find a higher water bill.” You’re going to run into more frustrations. Why? Because the “vanity” touches everything.

Ecclesiastes frees us from thinking, “It’s just me. Or that it’s just our home, just our family, just our jobs that’s frustrating. No. The frustrations you experience are part of life under the sun. The vanity touches Christian and non-Christian alike.

The Preacher’s words help us get real about life under the sun. In fact, most of your non-Christian friends already feel this about life. They too see and aren’t satisfied. They toil and never gain. They plan and get frustrated. They say things like, “Man, time flies,” or “Life sucks and then you die.” They feel the fleeting nature of life. They groan at the futilities of our broken world. They sing about it: “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” Tell them, “Hey, there’s this guy named Solomon; he totally gets you.”

Tell them to read Ecclesiastes. I could see some of them saying, “I feel so seen right now! I feel understood. I’ve thought these very words before: ‘All is vanity!’” Ecclesiastes meets us right where we are and gives an honest assessment. It’s real life. God has used this book to save people—R. C. Sproul is one of them. But you know others like Amanda and Jonathan. And when you set Ecclesiastes within the Bible’s larger story, we know why life under the sun is like this. God kept his word to Adam—“in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Gen 3:17). Every sigh, every frustration you feel—they are preaching a sermon: the world faces futility because of sin.

But as we know from his final lines in the book (“Fear God and keep his commandments”), the Preacher’s agenda involves more than just helping us feel the futilities. As Eric Ortlund puts it, “[The Preacher] is trying to pry from us…all the usual reasons we have for getting out of bed and slogging through another Tuesday morning, because most of the reasons we give ourselves are actually illusions…However much we accomplish in this life, it is a matter of time until the mark we make is wiped away, we will be utterly forgotten, and it will be as if we never existed.”[vi] By saying this, the Preacher wants us to “despair of everything that will eventually let us down.”[vii]

The world is telling you that true gain comes with earning another degree, landing the right job, finding the perfect spouse, staying single and free, raising a family, fulfilling your dreams, growing a nice nest egg, exploring your sexuality, building a legacy, making a name for yourself. On and on the messaging goes.

But Ecclesiastes says, “Don’t buy it!” “What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” Nothing! You see, it’s his way of asking what Jesus would later ask the disciples on his way to the cross: “What will it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?” If anyone could’ve said, “I nearly gained the whole world,” it would’ve been Solomon. We’ll learn next week that he had it all. But in the end, he found it all wanting, empty, unsatisfying.

This medicine heals us by forcing us to consider why we’re truly doing what we’re doing. Where are you looking for lasting gain? Is your gain tied to making a difference, leaving a legacy? Is gain, for you, tied to a special project, or the complements of others? Is gain, for you, tied to the money you can save? Is it tied to the community of people who are bettered by your presence? Ecclesiastes is saying, “Be careful. In the end, it will all let you down.” Family, work, wealth, sex, hobbies, education, reputation—they can never be the source of your contentment. They’re unreliable sources for your soul’s satisfaction. The only one who won’t let you down, whose work always matters, and who’s name will never be forgotten is the Lord. The Preacher repeats “vanity” thirty-eight times in Ecclesiastes, but never once does it apply to the Lord.

Because he isn’t affected by the curse, he’s never distorted by sin, he’s not limited by the futility. But here’s the good news for you: this Lord who reigns above the sun, he took on flesh under the sun. As a man, he experienced our world under the curse. As a baby he was laid in a dirty manger. His parents fled with him to escape a corrupt ruler. He grew up with false religious leaders. He felt hunger. He had nowhere to lay his head. Satan tempted him. Murderers chased him. Crowds used him. Family disbelieved him. He grieved the loss of a friend. He tasted the bitterness of betrayal. He was lied about, spat upon, and unjustly convicted. He felt the agony of a cross. He tasted death.

Jesus experienced life under the sun. But what made his experience different is that he faced the frustrations of life under the sun without sin. In everything, he feared God and obey his commandments. And for that reason, God raised him from the dead to inaugurate a new day, a new covenant, a new birth, a new life, and a new creation.

Yes, God kept his word to Adam about the colossal effects of sin. God subjected this world to futility. But Romans 8 tells us that he subjected it “in hope that “the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” Therefore, don’t seek your gain here under the sun. There’s no gain to be had. Seek your gain in Christ who frees us from the curse.

True gain comes by denying yourself, taking up your cross and following Jesus. Jesus told the crowds in John 6:27, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you.” Give yourself to Christ. Work for his name, because he will never be forgotten, nor will his love ever forget you after you die. This good news is why Paul would also tell the church in 1 Corinthians 15:58, “Be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.”

So, tomorrow morning—when the wearisome toil stares you in the face again, when your plans get frustrated, when your best efforts don’t even put a dent in all that needs to be done…and you take that big sigh, “Hevel”—remember two things. One, this is life under the sun; you cannot expect any lasting gain from it. But two, Christ is seated above the sun; and in him, you have everything to gain. It’s as the old poem goes: “Only one life twill soon be past, only what’s done for Christ will last.”

________

[i] Quote taken from Bobby Jamieson, Everything Is Never Enough (New York: Waterbrook, 2025), xxii.

[ii] Jamieson, Everything, xvi.

[iii] J. I. Packer, Knowing God (Wheaton: Crossway, 2023), 119.

[iv] A. B. Caneday, “‘Everything Is Vapor’: Grasping for Meaning Under the Sun,” SBJT 15.3 (2011), 34.

[v] Caneday, “Everything,” 32.

[vi] Eric Ortlund, Ecclesiastes (London: Hodder, 2024), 42-43.

[vii] Ortlund, Ecclesiastes, 21.